


Charlatan

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re in my world now<br/>Not your world<br/>And I got friends on the other side…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlatan

When you met him, when you met THEM… you no longer felt like a warrior chosen by Primus. Here, you weren’t a war general, you weren’t a holy crusader, no-

Here? Here you were prey.

He met you standing, arms crossed behind a ramrod-straight back. You wondered if perhaps he didn’t notice you were there- until he seemed to relax even at attention, arms uncrossing to rest at his sides. He turned enough to glance over his shoulder.

“Good evening Sir Prime. Have a seat, make yourself _comfortable._ ”

The way his voice drifted through the air sent chills down your backstrut. Your instincts flared to life like klaxons during nuclear meltdown and you EDGED, you did not walk, to a seat before settling down into it.

“I am Tactical Head Prowl; TacHead or Prowl for short if you must.”, he continued, tapping at three points on the massive console screen.

It flickered, blue-white-redredred and you swallowed hard at the way it lit his… smile.

He turned to fully face you, brushing imagined dust from his chest before continuing, “It is my understanding that this is your first visit here; but that you will be staying with us ‘permanently’. I’m assuming this is in the loosest sense of the term?”

You coughed, “Ah, erm, yes. I will be centered here so long as I am not needed on the front.”

“So yes, permanently.”

You narrowed your optics in confusion, and he grinned again- Oh, how it sent your tanks into turmoil when he did that. The peeking of almost-fangs, the eerie backlight of the red screen managing to reflect from Primus-knows-what to give his optics a sheen that bordered on Decepticon.

“There’s… something of a little joke around. Thanks to the battlecomputer and its… boosts so to speak; the crew around the outpost like to say I can predict the future-”, he laughed, a boneshatteringly cold sound, “Or that perhaps I have friends on the other side, whispering answers to war’s great questions.”

“War’s great questions?”

“Weak points, bad defenses… assassinations, raids, the like.”

You didn’t like how easily those words rolled off his glossa.

“Anyway-”

“Prowl?”

“Yes?”

“May I ask what is on that screen behind you?”

“Ah, a little _game_ I play to while away the hours not filled by paperwork or menial tasks.”

“Game?”

“Like chess, but my pieces are _quite_ alive.”

“You… do battle maneuvers?”

“I do.”, said Prowl with a that smile like permafrost, “I might as well, it **IS** after all what I am here for. These are projected battles, possible altercations planets and galaxies away, and they send me the specs of each battle to play out on my little screen, here. They watch as I play, and _hopefully_ they even learn something.”

The more he spoke the more you were unnerved.

“Our rules are simple here; file your reports, finish your assignments, and leave the SpecOps agents to do as they please. Should they give you any trouble, do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Give me trouble?”

“They can be… set in their ways. Habits, tics, quirks, they’ve all been documented in the information sent via comm. I would _strongly advise_ you read through it-”

“Strongly advise I read through the nervous habits of soldiers? Just who is in charge here?”, you said, your voice half an octave lower in annoyance.

His expression dropped then, briefly, from his iced over smile to an almost snarl. It vanished as soon as you (maybe) noticed it.

“I have been here quite some time, you see… It will take them a while to recognize the extra rung on the ladder.”

“If they were good soldiers, they’d be able to recognize it immediately.”

“And if you were a good leader, _Sir Prime_ , you would notice when there were more than two to a room.”, said a voice by your audial. You swore your spark almost stopped as a mech slid by you with the lithe grace of a serpent, your optics wide as he handed a datapad to Prowl.

Prowl’s smile was once again in place, dead and cold as a corpse in the deep sea as he accepted the offered datapad, tucking it into his subspace.

“Thank you, Mirage.”

“It was my pleasure, **_Sir._** ”

“I’m sure. Dismissed.”

Mirage nodded curtly, sending a scathing look to you before once again stepping off into the shadows of the office.

Prowl looked back to you and chuckled. The sound slid like oil over your senses, cloying and thick as cold energon from a dying arterial cable.

“Is he your friend on the other side?”

“One of them, I suppose, if you can call the agents friends… or otherworldly.”

You nodded, swallowing hard again as Prowl perched upon his desk and crossed his arms beneath his bumper. You had heard Praxians were lovely frames, demure and quiet. What you hadn’t heard was the “quiet” aspect was the kind of silence you find in a morgue; the kind of white noise that blended in like the whispers of the skeletons in your closet.

That the “demureness” spoken of so highly was tempered with intellect, with an artful listening gotten by a subtly cocked audial and a content expression.

In short.. Prowl terrified you on an instinctual level, a wolf to a sheep. You may be the top of the official ladder, but you had the distinct feeling that it was Prowl who ran the show.

“Are there any questions?”, he asked you.

You shook your helm, fearing your vocalizer would crack as he stared into you with optics too focused to match the lidded and relaxed way they settled on you.

“Very well.”, he looked past you, “Jazz, if you would be so kind as to show the Prime to his new quarters.”

“Sure thing, Prowler.”

You jumped, you couldn’t help it. The voice sounded from behind Prowl this time. An agent stepped forward, snapping his visor in place; but not before you caught a glimpse of optics mismatched, one blue as a clear sky and the other yellow as molten gold. The visor snapped in place with a click and flickered to life, and he smiled.

You swallowed the shout that wanted to break free.

Fangs. He had fangs like a Decepticon and yet not, curved slightly and layered over his dentae. Explained the low drawl he spoke with-

“If yeh’ll folla me, Sah Prime.”, he purred, bowing slightly in a way that felt distinctly like mockery before quick steps carried him in the direction of the door, “Raht this way, if y’please.”

Prowl’s smile was Chesire in origin, “Have a good evening Sir. And welcome to your _new home._ ”

You watched as his optics flickered, and then you faced a black-and-white back as he focused on the screen again, directing blobs of red and blur and green now.

You tried to retain your dignity as you rose from your seat, obviously dismissed, and turned to follow Jazz-

He was next to you, inspecting the tips of servos, and you hissed a swear under your breath. He cocked his helm, visor flashing as he looked at you.

You remembered mismatched optics. You shivered.

He turned and silent steps led you from the office.

“Terrifyin’ innit?”, he wheedled, and you looked down at him as halls were eaten by strides.

“What?”

“Every step y’ever took on the battlefield.”

“What about them?”, you snapped.

He jerked slightly, and stood a little more stiffly.

“You w’s nothin’ more’n a chesspiece for him, prob’ly more’n once, Sir Prime.”, he growled, “An’ remember- _Even Kingpieces fall._ ”

You froze, standing before your door.

“An’ you only get _one_ move before somebody’s gonna call **checkmate.** ”, laughed the SpecOps mech, “Recharge well, _Optimus Prime_.”

He gave a half-done salute, and slunk away like a devil from myth.

You waited until he was gone before you frantically punched in your habcode and darted through the door. It hissed shut behind you and your spark clenched when you saw the shadowy corners like prison walls.

Lights came on, one by one by one as you went from switch to switch.

You sank down on the couch in the main room of the hab and exhaled shakily.

You didn’t think you’d ever turn these lights off again.

Not when Prowl had his _friends_ on the **other side.**


End file.
